HD 'Jealous Guy' 7 in 13 Nights
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; EWE; Green eyed jealousy!


**Title:** Jealous Guy  
**Author:** **tigersilver**  
**Characters:** Harry/Draco  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warning(s):** Sex in the loo!  
**Word Count:** 2.000 +/-

**Prompt: ** **hd_seasons** – 13 Nights of Smut, Prompt #7 (Trick or treat; bite)

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Green-eyed jealousy!

"Spread 'em!"

"What? No! Draco!"

"Bite me, Harry! You were the one fucking wagging your tail feathers—literally, Merlin damn you!—and you're the one who's getting what's due, you pisser! Now, spread your skinny little legs and shut your gob!"

"But, but I _didn't_!" Harry babbled, moving to do exactly what Draco ordered, all the same. "That was her, not me, Draco—I didn't even notice, I swear it!"

Draco took hold of his shoulder and roughly (but not too roughly) helped him into the turn. Harry sent one last despairing look behind him as his face was squashed up against the Ministry's VIP loo's tiled wall, still gabbling useless apologies.

"Enough."

There was no arguing with that voice. When Draco Malfoy was set on some course of action, nothing short of an AK would turn him from following through.

"Shut up, Harry. If you can't remember whose you are, I'll be happy to see to it." Harry's costume (a Phoenix, complete with thousands of sneezy, shiny red-and-gold feathers, a long trailing tail plume and knee-length lace up black suede boots) moulted right off him under the possessive trail of Draco's fingers and a frowning Latin word.

"It's not that I don't remember, Draco—it's her! _She _was the one—" Harry's protests were growing weaker. "I mean, she always does this when she's drunk, Gin does, and it's nothing, Draco, you know that. I mean, the only one I want is _you_—don't even like females!"

Naked at Draco's command, Harry shivered convulsively. The loo was chilly and deserted, thankfully, and all his skin was bared to the cool air. His lover had stripped him even of his hose and bodysuit, the clingy Muggle material Hermione had said would anchor all those tickly feathers to his every movement—make them seem alive, as if he really were the fabled Bird.

"Shut your face, I said."

"Draco!"

Draco gritted his teeth at Harry's whinge, but he did not relent. He snorted, instead, and bit Harry viciously on the shoulder blade.

"You're a complete arse, Potter," and by the 'Potter' Harry knew he was in real trouble, "just as always, that all_ I_ know. Cups or no, the little bint's never really gotten over you and tonight you were just encouraging her. Don't you dare deny it!"

Two thin long fingers, sopping wet with conjured lube, were abruptly inserted up Harry's arsehole, without so much as a warning. "Umph!" he grunted, wincing, and flinched. "Jeeez, Draco—watch it! You're hurting!"

"Oh, I'm soo sorry, Potter," his lover sneered. "To think I hurt the little Hero—well, that's just too bad, isn't it?" he jibed, though Harry noticed the fingers eased off just enough to end the pain of peremptory stretching. They were still there, of course, doing their job of making him ready, but though Draco's tone was still mad as blazes, his touch wasn't painful.

They sloshed inside him, turning and twisting, and Harry groaned, helpless. "Ooooh!"

"You're damn straight you want this, Potter," Draco growled in one ear. "You want nothing more, do you, my little slut? Shaking that arse on the dance floor all night? Strutting? Who died and made you all that, Potter? Were you _trying_ to make me jealous?"

A third finger slotted in and then all three were pushing deep and deeper, and Harry's breathless 'Oooh!' turned to a high-pitched nasal groan of "Dracoooh!"

"Yes, that's it, Harry."

Draco was pumping his hips in time to his fingers, and each thrust brought his trousers—Muggle garb this Ministry Halloween Ball; a tuxedo and top hat, and an half-mask over a rakish brow and glittering grey eye, Draco Malfoy was the Phantom of the Opera, though far more handsome than ever the Muggle hero/villain had been—in slithery contact with Harry's clenched arse cheeks. It was pure, unadulterated torture to feel fabric slipping when it should've been skin.

"Please!" Harry begged. He'd lost the page, rather, and Draco wasn't berating him any more over Ginny's antics. "Please, hurry!"

"You want more, Harry?" Draco purred, and Harry nodded fiercely, head lolling back when Draco lipped his way up the jutting tendon on the side of his arched throat. He moaned in pleasure and nodded weakly, his features relaxing into sensual pleasure. But his voice, when it came, was harsh, yet. Draco had always made him sit up and take notice—there was no such thing as being complacent, not with a Malfoy.

"Yes, you jealous berk! Of course I want more—I always want more, when it's you!"

"You'd better believe it, Harry," Draco still sounded peeved, but Harry heard the telltale snick of a belt buckle unclasping. Draco's pleated formal trousers dropped with a whisper of fine-gauge silk-wool blend and the clank of fine leather and metal, and then it was Draco's hot cock budging up against Harry's slippery arse, still stabbing forward in a rolling, sinuous movement that undid Harry's inhibitions every single Merlin-damned time it happened. And it happened often enough, thank gods! "You are_ mine_, you little bugger—remember that, Harry," Draco hissed, and took his fingers away abruptly, perhaps in retaliation.

"Unh!" Harry nodded frantically. "Yes—yes, I am!" He was, no question, and why Draco didn't get that, for once and for all, Harry didn't quite know. "Draco, damn it! Don't stop now!" he wailed.

But then Draco became jealous over the oddest of things, and Ginny Weasley was definitely one of his triggers.

A very tiny part of Harry grinned slyly at the thought. He adored Draco's jealousy—nothing else could make him feel this desirable, this wanted.

"Draco!" Harry prompted when another grueling second had passed with nothing happening, and pushed his arse back in sharp reminder that he was there, waiting. "Come on, Draco!" Harry was growing impatient. "Someone will come if we're not careful—hurry!"

"No."

Draco must still be feeling yanked, then, contrary git. He teased Harry, rubbing his bits up and down Harry's crack, but not making a single move to slip his cock in Harry's starving arse. And Harry wanted to feel that pale aristocratic cock of Malfoy's so much he could nearly taste it—long and gorgeous, a hunk of flesh that sent him into regular transports of pleasure so intense it was nearly pain, sometimes. "No, Harry," Draco went on, still querulous. "Beg me. Tell me how much you want it—and how much you _don't_ want her, or any other one of those twats in your stupid fan club!"

"I _don't_!"

Harry was most sincere in that. Once one had Draco Malfoy up one's arse; once one felt his heat and his magic, in and through and all over one's thirsty skin, there was nothing—and no one—else that would satisfy-ever. He was addictive, the git, and Harry would likely die for that cock of his, and him with it. "I _wouldn't,_ Draco—you know that! I only want you, wanker—come on, please? Just—please? Now, before someone comes?"

"Huh! We'll see, Potter."

Draco fumbled a bit—Harry could feel fingers teasing across his flinching muscles and cupping his drawn-up balls for a moment—and then grabbed at that prick of his. He centered the swollen leaking head of it, slowly rubbing damp precum-streaky circles around Harry's stretched sphincter. But he did nothing further, the stubborn git. Not a move did he make, only waiting.

"Draco!" Harry burst out, turning his cheek desperately against the grout, scraping a tiny weal across his tight jaw. "Draco, believe me—it's only ever you. Only you, git. There's no one else."

"Huh," Draco grunted again, and disbelief was rife in his grumble. "You love the attention, Potter; don't deny it. And you deserve every second you wait for me, wanting it. How long have I stood about tonight, thumb up my fucking arse, and then just to be forced to pry you away from those fucking biddies of yours?" he demanded…but the very head of his cock breeched Harry's arse. Harry shivered, and ground his hips backward with a slightly insane lunge.

"And that little cunt, Weasleyette!" Draco added, snarling, dodging. "The nerve of her!"

"Draco! No—really!" Harry tried it again, but Draco was having none of his protests. "Let me!"

Not enough of a lunge to get where Harry so desperately needed to be: impaled on Malfoy's prick and loving it. Draco grabbed his thigh instead with a tight punishing hand and squeezed nastily, stilling him mid-plunge.

"Little bitch!" he hissed. "Oh, no, you don't! Not yet, Potter—I'm not ready to let you have it just yet. Now—beg me! Make it convincing, you prat, or I'll leave you just like this, git. You know damned well that Greengrass bint is still out there, gagging over me, drooling down her dainty little chin, I'm sure. And I'm bloody well sure she'd beg me if I wanted it, Potter…and _you_ don't want that to happen, do you?"

"NO!"

Harry was as close to despair as ever a man could be, with the world's greatest cock just teasing him and the world's greatest arsehole on legs taunting him over some little wet-behind-the-ears Witch, barely out of Hogwarts.

"No! You don't dare, Malfoy!" Harry was infuriated, too. So much so that he ripped his hip from Draco's grasp with a neat sideways twist and shoved himself back once more, throwing himself into it with all his might, forearms thrusting his entire weight off the wall, so he went straight on through, knocking Draco's guiding hand off his prick on the trajectory and engulfing the bits Draco was guarding so jeaously.

"Fuck! Arrrghh, Draco!"

Harry screamed—shrieked, and there was all at once a muffled horrified gasp and the whisper of 'Silencio!' behind him, as Draco scrambled to cover up the sound of Harry's pain. The Ministry's party was loud, yet, but this was a bellow of sheer agony on Harry's part—Draco's cock was bone dry, as yet, and it dragged at his insides something cruel and fierce, like bloody talons. He whimpered, sagging, his eyes damp with tears, and all at once he was surrounded by a warm careful Malfoy; petting him, stroking him, murmuring nonsense in his ear.

"Silly wanker! What did you do that for? Like I'd ever let you—Merlin, Harry, I could've really hurt you—you alright? Can you breathe, love? Harry?"

"Mmmm…"

Harry kept his eyes tight shut, as they'd clenched tight when he'd taken that fucking bargepole of Malfoy's inside him. He was adjusting, ever so slowly, and it helped that Draco kept his body utterly still and rigid behind him; only his hands and lips were busy, moving across Harry's hair and his nape and neck in soothing circles and small pats, adoring him.

"Harry, Harry," Draco crooned, "take it easy; relax, yeah? We'll go slow, I promise. Just tell me when you're ready. Harry."

"Mmm-hmmm," Harry mumbled, and finally exhaled, feeling as though his lungs would burst from the pent-up pressure. His lover's cock was gorgeously full and long and it budged off slightly at an angle; he was afraid he might've damaged an organ or two with that last lunge, but he'd just been so frustrated—so bloody desperate—there'd been no other way. He had to have Draco, and no one else on the planet was ever having Draco, not while Harry Potter still lived and drew breath, leastways. "'Kay…I think," he mumbled at last, throat still raw from the scream. "Try…moving, prat."

"Yeah? You're sure, Harry?" Draco's voice in his ear was terribly anxious, but his hips jolted just the smallest bit, easing their way by millimeters in reverse and then forward. Harry's prostate, which felt like it had fled, never to be seen again, poked a tentative head out of its hidey-hole and took notice of this coaxing motion. "I don't want to hurt you," Draco whispered, right by Harry's reddened earlobe. "Alright, there, Harry? Say yes, won't you?"

"Um," Harry grunted, thinking that maybe yes, he _could_ stand it…perhaps just a bit more? "Draco?" he added in a short gasp, and Malfoy, who knew him so well now they routinely finished off each other's sentences, went through with another of those tantalizing mini-thrusts. It was enough to convince Harry's bundle of shivery nerve endings that matters had much improved, internally—it could, conceivably, come out and play. "Ah—yesss! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Good?" Draco's tone was still hesitant, but his cock wasn't. It was a sure thing, and it owned Harry's arse. Malfoy firmed his chin and set a steady pace, heeding Harry's every small wriggle and half-swallowed moan, and then his lips latched onto Harry's throat like a lamprey. "Better?" he mumbled, nipping gently. "No more pain?"

"Mmmm!"

Harry shook his disturbed mop frantically in the negative. Any pain there was left over was all to the good! It reminded him without a smidge of room for doubt that this was Draco Malfoy, deep inside him and shagging him masterfully—his lover, his pride, _his_. Malfoy, who could pick and choose from anyone he wanted, the git, but who'd chosen _him_. "Nnnnn, Draco! Yes! Harder now, yeah?"

"Y-Yes, Harry! Harder! Fucking _on_ it!" Draco heeded him with alacrity, taking it up a notch, till Harry's cheekbone and jaw were compressed against the tile every other half-second from the pressure and his whole body swayed under the impact of Draco's hips knocking forcefully against his. It was sheer bloody heaven, that.

"Harry," Draco said, and Harry heard everything in those two syllables he needed to know.

He was completely forgiven for the unfortunate incident with Ginny (even though it wasn't even his fault!)—yes, forgiven, by a Malfoy who was a bloody stickler for formal written apologies. He was flat-out adored, too, by the Wizarding World's second most eligible bachelor, who happened to be his lover—his love. His.

And—oh, yes, Hermione's devious scheme for shaking up Malfoy's annoying complaisance over Harry's belonging to him had worked perfectly, spot on. Now Harry wouldn't have to bother his head about that silly Pureblooded bint Greengrass, nor any other grasping female seeking the Malfoy family fortune and trying to shove in where they weren't wanted. Every single Wizard and Witch on the Ballroom floor had just witnessed Malfoy take Harry by the arm and hip and literally drag him away to the special VIP loos; there wouldn't be a single doubt remaining as to _why_ after his unmuffled, entirely undignified, but unmistakably sexual-in-nature bellow. It had been a bloody mating call, on Harry's part. The cry of the Phoenix, rising triumphant. Malfoy was stamped Harry's property (no question, no quibble) as much he was marked Draco's.

"It's like this, Harry," Hermione had said, earlier that afternoon, when she was helping Harry with donning his bespoke costume. She'd tilted her chin mischievously and brushing an errant curl from her bright eyes, twinkling like Dumbledore in the early days. "It's that old Muggle Trick-or-Treat idea, right? 'Cept only it's not one or the other, it's both. _You_ trick Malfoy just enough to enrage him to a fit of the green-eyed monster and then _you _lay hands on that treat you're so gagging after—_him_—and then everyone goes home happy after, right? Well…except Ron, but what's new about that?"

"Right! It's perfect, Hermione—good one!"

Harry had grinned slyly, Slytherin-like, and allowed Hermione to Charm the clingy body suit even tighter on his skin and more form-fitting. He'd preened his sleek Phoenix feathers back before the swooning mirror and cackled gleefully when he was clad in full finery, emerald eyes bright behind his golden half-mask. He strutted, even, for a moment; back and forth like a small French cockerel, showing off his arse and his lovely Auror muscles, clearly visible to see under long, eye-catching red-and gold pin feathers. This should work, yeah. He'd bet on it.

He was a bird of prey, after all; triumphant. And Malfoy, that rabbit, would never even know what hit him.

"Bite _me_, Draco Malfoy, you jealous git!—I guarantee this'll make you chomp down and never let go! I'll have _you_," he snickered, and Hermione joined in his giggling, albeit somewhat ruefully, "you stuck-up wanker—right exactly where I want you!"

Finite


End file.
